


In Bits and Pieces

by AlleyMarie



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Drama, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fisting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Instability, Mild S&M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyMarie/pseuds/AlleyMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an AU where Glory succeeds at opening the portal between dimensions and makes it back home, taking Spike with her. Driven by guilt and loneliness, Willow devices a spell to bring Spike back, with unexpected complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a piece called "Eternal Screams" written by Laure Alexander. The original concept is hers. Laure is a prolific and well known writer in the Buffy fandom and I don’t even pretend to come close to her as a writer. Since this is a sequel, I recommend that you read "Eternal Screams" first. But it's not really necessary.

Don’t know how much time has gone by, maybe days, maybe years. One thing about torturing a vampire is that it can go on forever, literally. I’m in a dimension where there is no time, nor space, nor continuity – where nothing is real but the pain, the hunger and the darkness. It’s a fragmented and pliable reality, and my mind is in bits and pieces ... here and there... They don’t call this place a hell dimension for nothing. 

It’s dark where I’m now. I’m surrounded by an impenetrable and unending darkness that is impervious even to my enhanced vision. The darkness masticates and swallows me, like a giant living, or un-living, monster. I don’t know how else to describe it – there’s no physical being in the room with me, it’s as if the darkness around me itself is a creature. Its jaws pulverize my bones. I can feel my skeleton constricting and collapsing with a sickening, crunching sound ... and then the darkness slides over my skin, wet and cold, and it swallows me whole. 

No, not whole, I’m not whole anymore. "I’m in bits and pieces ... here and there ... bits and pieces everywhere." I sing the words like a little tune in my head, over and over, and it makes me laugh, and I laugh and I laugh – even though I don’t know why I’m laughing – until my throat is sore and raw, and I can’t laugh anymore ... and then I scream ... and I swallow my own blood along with bits of tissue that rip from the lining of my esophagus. "Bits and pieces ... here and there ..." 

And then the darkness regurgitates me and I’m tumbling upwards, ‘round and around, my head spinning, my guts flying around inside me like marbles in a skin pouch, crashing against each other, making clicking noises that echo in my ears from the inside out – and I’m spewed forth into another darkness. Except this darkness has color – it’s red darkness. Even with my eyes closed I can see the blood everywhere, stark red against the black. Blood red – the innocent and fresh blood of infants that wiggle in my hands, their hungry cries echoing in my brain. "Sorry, I’m hungry too," I say just before I sink my fangs into their tender flesh. There is also the putrid and dry blood of corpses, which I suck from the marrow of dried up bones and chunks of decomposing flesh that fall apart and wriggle themselves between my teeth – bits and pieces. 

"Bits and pieces ... here and there ..." 

This room is not the same as the other room. Not the room with the bed and the mirror. Not the room where Glory kept me tied to the bed – where she would come in and climb on my cock and ride me until I was red, and raw, and bleeding. Not that room. I’m in another room, the Dark Room. The room where there is nothing but me and the Darkness that chews and swallows only to spit me back out ... again and again. 

I no longer see Glory, probably tired of me now, tired of my screams. Sometimes, I wonder if she remembers I’m here, and then I decide that she probably doesn’t. Someone remembers – someone feeds me – sometimes. Maybe it’s the darkness that feeds me, the darkness that hands me wiggly little babies and rotting corpses. 

I don’t like the babies. She liked babies, but not me ... she was crazy ... only crazy vampires like to drink the blood of babies. But, I’m crazy now ... I know I am because when the scent of blood hits my nostrils and I crawl around the darkness looking for the source, I hope it’s a baby and not a dismembered old corpse; and when the crying sounds hit my ears, I lunge forward eagerly grasping for the little bundle so that I can sink my teeth into it. Slurping sounds echo in the room as I greedily suck and swallow – like I sucked and swallowed Buffy's blood. 

First, I screamed and screamed – then, Glory grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. She suspended the disembodied head above my face, the severed piece of spinal cord dangling just above my lips, and when I opened my mouth to scream, the bone slipped into my mouth and I reflexively sucked and swallowed. 

Something changes in the room. Someone is in the dark room with me and it’s not a wiggly baby or a corpse. I can’t see anything, but I feel it – around me, inside me, in my head! "Get out! Get the bloody hell out of me!" I scream. I bang my head on the wall, dig my nails into my scalp, tearing and pulling until I can feel blood and tissue coating my fingers and dripping down my face. The ‘something’ turns into a voice, a woman’s voice. At first I think it’s Glory and that she is coming for me, and I scramble in the darkness looking for a place to hide. But then I realize the voice doesn’t sound like Glory. I feel that I should know this voice, but I don’t, I don’t remember. 

It says only one thing, over and over. "Spike, Spike, Spike." I don’t know what it means, I want it to stop, but it won’t stop. "Spike, Spike!" 

"Leave me alone!" I scream, before I start falling – except that I can’t be falling because I’m already laying on the floor. I haven’t stood up in so long, I’m not even sure that my legs can still support me. How can one fall when one is already on the ground? I reach out with my hands, trying to grasp something, anything that will stop me from falling. Desperate hands grasp only air as my insides tumble and my head spins. A whistling noise rings in my ears, drowned out by the sound of my own screams. 

Then, everything stops. A peaceful numbness cradles me for a moment before my senses are attacked by a myriad of sensations. My instincts alert me that there is light in this room. My eyes are closed, but I can see the light through the membrane of my eyelids. Huddling into a ball, I instinctively try to protect myself from the light that sears my body. When I don’t combust, I open my eyes a fraction – the light is still there and so is the burning and pain coursing through my skin and muscles like raging, liquid fire. At first, I think this is a new form of torture – light that burns but doesn’t kill me – but then I realize that the pain was already there, before the light. 

All around me, there are sounds and smells, new and strange, yet oddly familiar. I can’t tell what any of them are, except for the voice. A woman’s voice next to my ear, still calling that one word. "Spike, Spike?" Softer now, more hesitant. Not Glory, someone else, but who? Who else would speak to me here, in this hell? 

Unexpectedly, a hand touches my shoulder, causing me to convulse and scream in pain and terror. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know what is with me in this new place. I’m certain it has to be something more horrible than the darkness. Torture doesn’t get easier, its intensity only increases – otherwise, what’s the point? But I look anyway. 

I see a woman’s face above me, a small face with wide, green eyes staring down at me. I ask her who she is and she doesn’t answer me. Her head shakes and her eyes fill with tears and she weeps, but she doesn’t answer me. That’s when I realize that she doesn’t understand me. My throat is torn, my tongue mauled by my own teeth a long time ago. My words come out like gurgling sounds that she can’t understand. 

And then she spins around and is gone. I’m left alone in the room ... a room like the one with the bed and the mirror, only smaller, less sumptuous. There is a bed in this room and I crawl to it. Using my hands and my arms, I hoist myself on the bed and lay down. I close my eyes and sleep, glad that, for a little while, I don’t have to pretend to be alive. I lay on the soft bed with my eyes closed and I wait for my new Mistress to return.


	2. Chapter 2

Willow ran from the room, stopping her mad dash only long enough to tightly close the door behind her. She stumbled into the bathroom and slid across the slick tile floor like a baseball player sliding across home-base, making it to the toilet just in time to empty the miserly contents of her stomach into the bowl. 

She was crying, and vomiting, and trying to breathe all at once, and it was not working. She asked herself what she had been expecting, and shook her head. " _Not this, not this,_ " she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to block from her mind the image of the vampire in the other room. Her eyes had been closed while she chanted his name over and over, calling him to her from wherever he might have been. The first indication of his presence were the terrible screams that ripped through the room, followed by the unholy stench that she could still smell through the walls and on her skin, even though the vampire was in another room and she had barely touched him.

At the sound of his screams, she had stopped chanting and opened her eyes, only to strangle on a scream of her own. The mass of blood and tissue lying on the floor in front of her had been barely recognizable as human in shape, let alone the vampire she knew. The momentary thought that she had messed up the spell and brought forth some hideous, unknown hell-creature sent a shiver of dread and apprehension through her spine. On closer inspection, she had recognized some of his features – a shock of white-blond hair peeking out from the red, tangled mass on the scalp; the feline contours of his body, and when he had turned to look at her, the stormy blue eyes, at the time clouded with pain, confusion and terror. The realization that what she was looking at was what remained of the vampire she had once known had sent a wave of nausea crashing through her body. 

Her stomach empty but still queasy, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned against the porcelain tub. She wondered if she had done the right thing by bringing him back and wished that there was someone there to reassure her. The past eighteen months had been lonely and trying. The memories of the last time she had seen Spike and Dawn haunted her thoughts day and night, compounded by the growing horrors of the following months.

It had been chaos that night. Dawn had been on the platform, Buffy had been fighting Glory, Willow had been huddling out of the way, protecting Tara, and the others had been on the other side of the lot. It was Willow who had sent Spike up the platform to help Dawn when she noticed someone up there with the girl. Willow had cleared a path for him and had watched as he ran up the make-shift tower – she should have been watching what was happening behind her instead. It wasn’t until she saw Glory rush after him that Willow realized Glory must have defeated Buffy. Everything had happened so fast after that, Willow had barely enough time to react. She pushed a still confused Tara out of harm’s way. When she turned around, she saw that Glory had knocked Spike down and sliced Dawn’s stomach. The portal opened and demons from other dimensions started pouring in. Spike regained his footing and started rushing toward Glory. The last thing Willow saw was Glory jump through the portal, dragging a disconcerted Spike with her just before the tower crumbled, taking Dawn down with it. Dawn was dead, they had buried her two days later. Buffy had just been unconscious and had been allowed to go home after an overnight stay at the hospital, but that had only been the start. 

Some of the creatures that entered through the portal were like nothing the slayer had ever fought before. To further aggravate matters, the portal remained unstable, small fissures opening now and then, releasing new creatures. They had all tried. Giles had researched frantically; Willow and Tara had helped with their magic; Xander and Anya had been there, fighting next to Buffy who, in spite of the devastation from losing Dawn, had still tried to answer her calling as the slayer. In the end, all had been for naught.

Tara had been the first one to be killed by one of the demons. Anya had gotten herself a sweet deal in the vengeance demon business shortly after and jumped ship. Anya was always the practical type and after spending a thousand years as a demon, she knew how to tell when she was on the losing end of a situation. When they found Buffy’s decapitated body at one of the graveyards during one of their nightly patrols, it was obvious they had been defeated. With no slayer in Sunnydale over whom to watch and with little else that he could do, Giles returned to England. Xander moved away a few weeks later, after trying in vain to convince Willow to go with him. Willow remained in Sunnydale. She had been surprised to find out that Buffy had willed the house to her, in the event of both hers and Dawn’s death, and Giles had placed her in charge of running the Magic Box before leaving.

The worst thing about living alone, other than the constant fear of demonic attacks, was that it gave Willow too much time to think about her friends, about their fate, about what she could have done differently, about what she could do now. Tara, Buffy and Dawn were dead, she couldn’t bring them back. Xander, Giles and Anya had left willingly and were better for it. But it was Spike that haunted her the most. He had not died, he had not left because he wanted to – he had been ripped from this dimension into another one by a Hell Goddess with a grudge, because she had sent him up on that tower and then failed to watch his back. That’s when she started thinking about a way to bring him back.

It had taken her months to find the right spell, and a few more weeks to put together all the ingredients. Having complete access to the Magic Box and its suppliers was a great help. The one thing she had worried about was that the spell required a personal item of the subject in order to track him. She had nothing that had belonged to Spike. His crypt was looted by other vampires and demons shortly after his disappearance, not that he had owned much in the first place. Then, she remembered that the night of the battle with Glory, just before he had rushed Glory on the tower, Spike had removed his duster and tossed it down out of the way. Xander had picked it out of the rubble the next day and taken it to Buffy’s house, where it had sat in a closet since.

The duster was the last item she had needed. She would have preferred something smaller and less cumbersome, like a piece of jewelry or a lock of hair, but as far as personal, that duster was closer to being a part of Spike than anything else. There were even tiny specks of his blood on it, from a time when his nose had been broken while fighting another vampire. Willow smiled as she recalled Spike’s ire at getting blood on his precious duster. He had sworn and cursed up a storm in his stilted accent, using several words that to that day Willow had no idea what they meant. Funny, she had never thought that blood on clothing was a big concern for a vampire, but then again, Spike was unlike any vampire she had ever met. 

Willow stood up on shaky legs, wondering what she would do now that Spike was back. Disturbing thoughts were rushing into her mind, thoughts that she should have at least considered before doing the spell. She had learned from Giles and Anya that time progressed at other paces in different dimensions – for all she knew, what had been eighteen months for her could have been centuries for Spike. It was possible that he didn’t even remember who she was.

There was also the concern of his present condition and the fact that he had not been acting like himself, or even coherently. Whatever had happened to him in that hell dimension had obviously pushed him to the brink, both physically and mentally. Willow consoled herself with the thought that he was not human: he was a vampire and vampires healed, fast. She told herself that he would be fine if given enough time, but she couldn’t help shuddering as she thought of Drusilla, a vampire wandering through the centuries in perpetual insanity. _What am I going to do with an insane vampire? What if he doesn’t get any better, what if he doesn’t recognize me and attacks me?_ She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts as she splashed water on her face. 

Glancing warily at the bedroom door, she walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She removed two of four packets of blood from the fridge and tossed them in the microwave. While she waited for the blood to heat up, she tried to think of where she would get more. Willow had managed to convince a hospital worker to sell her the four packets of human blood without too many questions, but she knew she would have to find more, and soon. When the timer bell rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Carrying the two packets and a small towel, she made her way back up the stairs, bracing herself before entering the bedroom. 

Spike laid in a fetal position on the bed, his arms holding his knees close to the chest. He had not bothered to pull down the comforter before lying down and Willow shifted uncomfortably, averting her eyes from the vampire’s naked body. He didn’t move nor did he acknowledge her presence in anyway. She hesitantly approached the bed. 

"Spike? Are you awake? I brought you some blood." 

Spike uncoiled his body and rolled onto his back, arms and legs splayed, displaying his body in front of her without any modesty. Willow tried to keep her eyes on his face and avoid looking anywhere below his waist, but her eyes kept getting drawn to his body, searching for a spot that was not marred by dirt, blood, bruises, gauges or cuts. A loud gasp escaped her lips when her eyes settled on his groin. Willow was not what anyone would call an expert in male genitalia, being a lesbian and all, but she felt certain that his genitals were not supposed to look like _that_. It looked mangled, bloody and raw, not unlike the rest of his body. She tried to think of what could possibly cause that kind of damage to a vampire and decided that she was better off not knowing. Instead, she took a couple of cleansing breaths to calm herself. _Just remember he is a vampire, with enhanced healing abilities. And infection – not a problem._ She tried not to think about the kind of pain he must have been feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

When he made no move to reach for the blood, Willow moved closer to the bed and stretched out her hand, holding the packets toward him. Spike raised his upper body slowly, propping himself on an elbow and eying the bags hungrily. _What on earth is he waiting for, a written invitation?_ She immediately felt remorseful for her exasperated thought and managed to smile weakly at him.

"Here, go ahead, take it," she encouraged.

She jumped back when he suddenly reached and snatched the packets from her hands. As Spike tore into the blood with his fangs, Willow looked around the room. The supplies she had used for the spell still laid on the floor where she had left them. She knew she should pick them up, but she was so tired she could barely move and she decided that getting Spike fed and cleaned up was more important than the mess on the bedroom floor.

With a deep sigh, she turned toward the bed and saw that the vampire had finished feeding and was looking at her. He had spilt some of the blood in his haste to drink it and it was dripping down his chin. Looking at the kitchen towel in her hand, she decided that it wouldn’t do much good to wipe the blood off his chin, considering the state of the rest of his body.

She nervously wrung the towel between her hands while she spoke. "Uh ... yeah ... hum ... Spike, do you think ... would you like to ... you know, take a bath ... get cleaned up?"

He continued to look at her as if unable to understand her words. Willow pointed toward the bathroom down the hallway. "Baaaath," she explained slowly.

Without a word, Spike slid from the bed and began to crawl to the door.

"Oh, wait a minute, let me help you." Willow set the towel on the dresser and bent down to help Spike to his feet.

The moment her hand touched his arm, he jerked reflexively, bringing his arm up and knocking Willow backward against the bed. Willow didn’t try to approach him again, she leaned back on the bed, too exhausted to do anything but watch him crawl to the hallway. With a groan, she pushed herself up and walked around him, leading the way into the bathroom. Her eyes shifted between the tub and the shower-head, finally deciding that, considering how much blood and grime was on his body, a shower would be best. She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature before indicating to Spike that he should get in. With some effort, he managed to get inside the tub and sat there, letting the warm water beat on his skin. Still averting her eyes from his body, Willow handed him a bar of soap and a washcloth. He took the proffered items, but made no move to use them.

Willow sank to her knees next to the tub, tears of exhaustion and frustration quickly welling up in her eyes.

"Spike, please, you have to help me. I understand that you are not ... well, but I can’t do this alone and there’s no one else here to help." She tentatively took the washcloth and soap from his hand. After lathering the cloth, she slowly touched it to his shoulder, awaiting his reaction. He flinched when she touched him, but didn’t knock her down this time. She began to gently wash his back, talking while her hand worked small circles on his skin.

"You know, we make a sorry pair, you and I. We are both so tired we can’t even move! What was that word you always used?" She paused for a moment, searching her memory for the elusive word. "Knackered! Yeah, that’s it ... we are both knackered out. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘misery loves company’? Well ... I don’t know who first said it ... but it’s wrong, because I may be miserable, but I’m _so_ not loving this."

Willow didn’t expect Spike to participate in the conversation, she even doubted he was listening to what she said. But the inconsequential chatter kept her mind off the task at hand and off all the questions about the future that were pounding in her brain.

When she finished washing his back, Willow handed the washcloth back to Spike. "See? Like that. You can do the rest – can’t you?"

Her voice sounded more hopeful than she had intended, and she tried not to look too relieved when he took the washcloth and soap and began to wash his arms. She stood up and started to close the curtain, as much to afford him some privacy as to block his battered body from her view. Before she walked away, she pointed at his head and grimaced. "Uh ... don’t forget your hair, ok?" She closed the curtain without waiting for an answer.

She leaned back against the bathroom door and slid down to sit on the floor. As she listened to the water cascade into the tub and watched the steam swirl around her, she thought about how tired she felt. She knew from previous experience that casting a powerful spell usually zapped her energy, both physically and magically, for a couple of days. A spell of this magnitude would probably keep her out of commission for a week – a week in which she had to deal with Spike, keep the house clean, work at the Magic Box, procure blood somehow, protect both of them from the demons and vampires that ran rampant in the streets of Sunnydale since the demise of the slayer, and hopefully keep her sanity. She was too frightened to think about what would happen if Spike didn’t get better after that first week. Exhaustion overcame her and she dozed off.

She awoke a while later, disoriented and confused.

"Spike!"

Willow ran to the tub and pulled back the curtain. She must have been sleeping for a while because the water had turned ice cold. Spike still sat in the tub where she had left him, the freezing water pounding on his head.

"I’m sorry! I’m _so_ sorry!" she exclaimed as she hurried to shut off the water and cover him with a towel.

Spike took the towel and began to dry his body as Willow stood nearby, trying to look anywhere but directly at him. She leaned heavily against the sink and tried to fight back the tears – her crying and carrying on would not help either one of them at the moment – but she knew that after she put him to bed, she would have a good cry over this.

Willow watched as Spike crawled out of the tub with some effort. Once he was out, he stood up on shaky legs, bracing himself against the sink for support. He looked at her and Willow got the impression that he was awaiting a reaction from her.

She smiled faintly. "Good ... you can stand ... that’s good. Uh ... do you want me to help you ... can I ...?" She hesitated before placing an arm around his waist. When he didn’t pull away, she smiled up at him and asked, "Can I help you back to the room?"

Spike didn’t answer, but allowed her to help him as he limped slowly down the hallway. When they reached the bed, Willow pulled the soiled comforter down to the floor with her free hand and pulled the top sheet back. Spike collapsed on the bed, dragging Willow down with him. She quickly disentangled herself from his arm and jumped back, hastily throwing the sheet over his body.

"That’s better, isn’t it?" she asked nervously.

Spike didn’t respond. With a heavy sigh, Willow walked to the dresser in the corner of the room and pulled out a small pouch from the top drawer. Spike sank down into the mattress when she approached him again.

"It’s just to help you sleep, it won’t hurt you."

Willow dipped her fingers into the pouch before placing them over Spikes eyes and forehead, smearing a light, powdery substance on his skin. She cringed when he shrank back from her and whimpered, even though she knew she wasn’t hurting him. "Shhhhh," she whispered soothingly. A few words from her and Spike was sound asleep.

Willow looked at the hallway just outside the door and thought that crawling the distance was really not such a bad idea. She sleepily stumbled out to the hall and into her room, next to the one Spike occupied. Not bothering to undress, she collapsed on the bed and closed her eyes. The sleeping spell she had performed on Spike, as simple as it was, had used up her last modicum of energy, but she believed it had been necessary. There was no telling for how long she would sleep and she didn’t want Spike, for his own safety, to get up and wander outside of the house. She admitted to herself, albeit guiltily, that she had also been concerned about Spike waking up in the middle of the night and murdering her in her sleep.

 

Willow felt much better when she awoke the next day. Her magic was still topped out, and her body felt sluggish, but she had gotten quite a few hours of sleep and she felt definitely more rested than the previous night. After briefly checking on Spike to confirm he was still sleeping, she took a long, hot shower and got dressed. She went to the kitchen where she quickly ate a bowl of cereal, thinking that the vampire upstairs must be hungry and she should hurry up and take him his meal.

As she waited for the microwave to heat up the two remaining pouches of blood, she made a mental list of the things she had to do that day. She had closed the Magic Shop for the weekend, so she didn’t have to worry about work, but she did need to clean the house, do laundry, find Spike something to wear, and then she needed to go out and find some blood. She had decided she would go to Willie’s. Willow wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea. Ever since Buffy’s death, the demon element in the area had grown rougher and more unruly. Some, mostly the ones that did not eat humans, left her pretty much alone because of her reputation as a witch – but many others still thought of her as the "slayer’s friend" and demons harbored grudges longer than any human she knew. But she also knew that Willie’s was her best bet to get some blood at a reasonable price. Even if he didn’t have any human blood, she was certain he could supply her with some pig’s blood.

Willow pulled out several jars from one of the kitchen cupboards before heading up the stairs with the two packets of warm blood and another small towel. She couldn’t do a spell, but she still had some herbs and ointments that might help Spike heal, or at least make him more comfortable.

She stepped into Spike’s dimly lit room slowly. After turning on a lamp, she walked to the dresser.

"Wake-up sleepy head. I got something for you," she said cheerfully, in a low voice that she hoped was reassuring.

She placed the ointments and herbs on the dresser, along with one of the packets of blood. When she turned around to hand Spike the other packet and the towel, she froze, gawping at the sight on the bed in front of her. The packet of blood slipped from her hands to land on the floor, splashing over the small area rug.

Spike was lying on his back with his eyes shut tight, there was an expression of both concentration and pain on his face. But what had scared Willow was that his fist was tightly wrapped around his flaccid, still injured member and he was harshly pulling on it, over and over. Willow whirled around and faced the wall.

"Spike, please stop that!"

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he either had not heard her, or was ignoring her. She moved closer to the bed and spoke a little louder. "Please, stop!"

Her hand reached out to grab his arm but then pulled back. She didn’t want to touch him, not that close to _there_ and not while he was doing _that_. Panicking and not knowing what to do, she screamed at him. "I said, stop!"

He immediately removed his hand and opened his eyes, looking at her with an expression that was as frightened and confused as she felt. Willow grabbed the extra bag of blood from the dresser and, along with the towel, threw it on the bed next to him before running out of the room. She slammed the door shut behind her and sat on the top step of the stairs.

"Oh, Goddess, please help me. I don’t know if I can do this," she muttered.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. She knew she had to go back into the bedroom – she had to clean the mess on the floor, she had to tend his wounds, and she couldn’t leave him alone all day locked in the room. The thought fleetingly crossed her mind that she should have never performed the spell that brought him back, and she felt her heart twist with guilt at thinking it.

But still, she wanted the old Spike back: the vampire who even with a chip in his brain knew how to instill fear into any creature, the painfully insightful Spike who always spoke his mind and did not hesitate to take charge of any situation. She had wanted the old Spike to come back and lessen her burden, keep her company, tell her what to do – not the wreck that now laid in that room unaware of who she was, possibly even who he was, and whom she would probably have to take care of for the rest of her life. She felt terrible for even having those thoughts, but the truth was she had barely been able to take care of herself in the last few months, and she didn’t know if she had the stamina necessary to take care of somebody else as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Spike watched silently as the woman who had been taking care of him turned and ran out of the room, a look of horror and revulsion on her face. He then scrambled for the packet of blood she had left on the bed and sank his fangs into it, savoring the lukewarm blood. Three packets in less than twenty four hours was more than what a vampire needed to survive; she had been overfeeding him. But his body was injured and needed the extra blood to heal, plus he had been starved for so long that the hunger never truly seemed to go away no matter how much he fed. After draining the packet, he eyed the other one on the floor. First glancing at the door, he slid from the bed and crawled to the spot where the blood was beginning to soak into the small rug. He lapped up as much as he could, until the floor was wiped clean.

Unsure about what to do next, he scrambled back to the bed and laid down, trying to think about his situation and about the woman with the green eyes. There was something familiar about her, but his thoughts were so muddled that he couldn’t place her. Every-time he looked at her hair, the image of a younger version of her, wearing a fuzzy, purple sweater and scrunching her face at him flashed in his head. Other times, her voice brought images to his mind – images of her sitting at a table in front of a book, her holding a brown haired woman and apologizing to him for something about his hand, her voice commanding him to " _get up there, now_!". He knew all these things added up to something, but his thoughts were so fragmented that he couldn’t make sense of them.

Her actions were also confusing and contradictory – he knew she was displeased with him, but he didn’t understand why. He had tried to make himself hard for her, and he knew he could have if she had only given him a moment. One of the things that had angered Glory the most, other than his early attempts to escape, was his failure to be hard and ready for her when she would come in the room. She had punished him many times for that, and was probably one of the reasons why she had grown bored with him and sent him to the dark room. He didn’t want to go back to the dark room, and he didn’t want to go back to Glory. If he was never going to have his freedom again, then he wanted to stay where he was, with this woman. She was kind and soft – it had been so long since he had been touched softly, the way she did in the tub. But she also looked sad all the time. He wanted to know why she was sad, and he wanted her to touch him again. Spike reasoned that if he didn’t find a way to please her, she would get tired of him, like Glory had, and would probably send him back to the dark room. He would do anything not to go back there, if he could only figure out what she wanted from him.

Through lowered lids, Spike watched as Willow entered the room again and approached the bed. Without looking directly at him and without saying a word, she grabbed the bed-sheet and tossed it over his lower body. She then moved to the dresser, looking through several containers until finally finding the one she wanted and carrying it to the bed. She sat next to him and scrunched her face as she examined his chest, carefully avoiding looking any lower than that.

"This is going to help you ... do you understand that?" she asked him softly.

Spike nodded numbly, not certain what she was talking about, but not about to question her and risk upsetting her again.

"Uh ... ok ... let’s see ... how are we going to do this?" She seemed to be talking more to herself than to him.

"I know ... turn around and I’ll do your back, and ... uh ... you can do the front. Ok?"

Spike rolled on his stomach, not certain of her intentions but instinctively trusting her. He gasped and then sighed when her small hand began to gently touch his back. Her fingers fleeted across his skin, barely touching him and yet causing his skin to tingle lightly wherever they did. Her skin was warm and she was applying something cool and slippery to his body. Spike slowly relaxed, concentrating on her small, gentle caresses. She wasn’t talking to him, like she had in the bathtub. Instead, she was humming to herself in a barely audible voice.

Spike closed his eyes and concentrated on the woman. For the first time since he had seen her the day before, he allowed himself to listen to the sounds of her body and to take in her scent. He was slightly surprised to realize that she was human, but not really – he felt that he somehow knew that all along. Her heartbeat was a little fast, her skin warm, he could smell her skin and her blood, and he wanted to feel more of her. Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Ok, now, turn around."

He rolled onto his back, the action bringing him closer to her so that the side of his body made contact with her thigh. She didn’t move away and started to hand him the small jar.

"Oh ... wait, one more thing."

She dipped the fingers into the jar and applied the ointment to his face, starting at his forehead and running her fingers down to his cheekbones. As Spike stared deeply into her eyes, he brought up his hand and rested it on her back. He gently nudged her forward until she was almost on top of him and his face was buried in her neck. Her heart fluttered and he could smell fear tinge the scent of her blood, but she didn’t pull away. He took in her scent deeply and allowed it to fill him. As he closed his eyes, memories started flooding in. They were a little confusing at first, but they slowly took the form of coherent thoughts. He knew this woman, had known her for some time. He remembered her kindness to him and to others, her quirkiness that made him smile inwardly sometimes. He also remembered her power and her strength. She was a witch, and she was his friend, or at least, one of the closest things he had to a friend. Strange, how the sight of her had only given him glimpses of memories, but her scent had brought all these recollections of her suddenly back.

"You did a spell," he whispered softly.

His voice was still hoarse, but comprehensible.

Willow pulled her head back and looked at him with wide eyes.

"You remember who I am?" she sounded hopeful, but also hesitant.

Spike nodded his head. "Is this real, did you really do it? Did you bring me back?" he asked. She seemed real and so did everything around him, but he needed her to reassure him.

Willow smiled widely at him through her tears. "Yes! This is real and I brought you back. You’re back Spike, back where you belong!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "You’re going to be ok, I know you are! You have to be!"

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he didn’t know if anything would ever be "ok." That he was broken, and that there was no way to tell if the pieces of his shattered self could ever be put together again. All he knew was that he was grateful to the witch for bringing him back. Spike closed his eyes tightly as tears slid down his face and he whispered, "Thank you."


End file.
